


The Devil's Guide

by Hitomi_Zotz



Category: James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, James Bond - Ian Fleming
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2018-11-28 05:23:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11411103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hitomi_Zotz/pseuds/Hitomi_Zotz
Summary: Bombs, drugs, sex slaves and gun trade and it all leads to one man- Emmanuel Trevino- a man who seems unstoppable because no one can find the secret routes he uses to trade. James Bond assists Felix Leiter in finding an in through Trevino's captive Kendall McKenna. Kendall is an expert cartographer which makes the CIA think she's more than a prisoner. For James there's a more personal connection, Kendall is also his dead lover Paris Carver's younger half-sister. Will she help the spies?





	1. Missing in Mexico

**Author's Note:**

> A combination of movie and book fandom. I imagine James Bond as being like Pierce Brosnan's incarnation with a mix of his novel form. Felix Leiter is a mix of his novel form and the Jack Lord appearance in Dr. No.

James Bond entered his superior M's office with a tired ease mixed with apathy that came from experience and repetitiveness. It was another murky morning and he had decided, after crossing a busy street beneath a drizzle that was threatening to turn into a downpour, that he would accept whatever admonishment M had for him now if it meant a potential mission to somewhere less grim and grey.

The middle aged English agent was a little surprised to find American CIA agent Felix Leiter standing there just before M's desk. He looked to Felix with a small smile and greeted, “morning Felix.” The bigger surprise was that James felt happy to see his overseas ally, it was a subdued happiness but it was there. It had been a long time since they had last spoken and only now did James realise he had in fact missed the American. He supposed dryly it was because Felix was one of the very few people who understood the nature of espionage, the dangers and the loss, and thus he was one of the very few people James could be honest with.

“Morning James,” Felix retorted. As he spoke his Texan accent came through as a light flavouring to his generic American accent. With MI6 Felix could let a sliver of his real self show.

James flickered his dark cerulean gaze in M's direction. He offered the MI6 head a harmless smile before greeting her as well. “Good morning M.” M was the one woman who was unwaveringly immune to James' charm but the agent was ever hopeful that one day she might thaw. He supposed privately that if she ever did she would only become less appealing to him, her stoic no nonsense attitude was part of the reason why she held his respect.

“Bond,” she retorted bluntly. M was seated behind a wide mahogany table with a sleek, black laptop open before her. The desk was as professional and void of the personal touch as M herself. It had a wireless, black office phone resting in the charger at the end and beside it a hooded lamp with a flexible metal stem that was currently off and poised above an open case file. M didn't tolerate clutter, what was on her desk was her focus and she wasn't one for creating a 'for later' pile of notes, it was now or it was never.

“Am I going to be offered a much deserved, all expenses paid vacation to the States?” James quipped with mock hope.

M gave the agent a frown in retort. “No Bond you're going to be offered a job there.”

“Are you friends slacking Felix?” James queried teasingly as he glanced over at the foreign agent.

Felix grinned back at James amicably and shook his head. “We've got a shared interest in this one James,” he explained.

“The bomb in Leeds and the massacre in Sheffield,” M alluded. “They were both enough of a mess that it was difficult to figure out the real target in all the carnage.”

“Not just a terrorist act then?” James queried innocently with a raised eyebrow.

M's frown deepened. “If you're being sardonic don't and if you're not you're getting rusty 007,” she scolded him quickly, “in which case you can find yourself a desk job. Neither attack was fixed around an obvious landmark or event, the one in Leeds took out eight town houses and left only ash and rubble, which is why it took so long figuring out a motive.”

“So who were they after?”

“Drug dealers,” Felix answered bluntly, “in the case of Leeds we now have reason to believe Texan fugitive Samuel Briggs was one of the causalities. He was a top heroin supplier back home before he vanished,” Felix explained. “Sheffield we don't know any names yet but your guys turned up enough evidence to suggest there was heroin supplying going on there too.”

“Isn't this D.E.A territory?” James queried warily.

“Usually and they have had their say in it,” Felix replied wearily, “but the man they all link to is much more than a run of mill drug baron. Plus, when he took it international he made it CIA business.”

James glanced from Felix to M, Felix looked tired and tense and had noticeably aged since James had last seen him. It had James pondering if Felix noticed a change in him, he didn't feel the stress of the years that had passed by since he had last seen the American but he wondered if he had just become numb to it.

“Emmanuel Trevino,” Felix explained, “man has a finger in every pot- drugs, weapons and, we suspect, people too. Problem is no one can figure out his routes, we've tried to catch his men with illegal goods but they dodge us every time. He crosses borders and oceans with no difficulty, the man has friends in high places, that we know.”

“Alright,” James murmured, “so where do we begin?”

M turned the open file around and pushed it across the desk.

James stepped forward and felt an odd jolt run through him. Two glossy pictures shone back at him. The one on the left depicted the glamorous, beautiful and now very much dead Paris Carver. In the picture she was youthful, her dark brown hair up in tight, flattering curls, a tight, dark blue dress on to flatter every curve and a wide smile across her face that didn't quite reach her bitter stare. The picture on the right depicted a younger woman, this one just as jaded and unsmiling. She had dark brown eyebrows that gave away her copper hair as a dye job, honey-vanilla skin suggesting that her heritage held something other than Caucasian in it and turquoise eyes that gleamed with intelligence. James looked from the redhead to Paris once more though it cost him to see her smiling face knowing that he would never see it in the flesh again. There was a resemblance there, something in the mouth perhaps though the redhead was unsmiling, or perhaps the nose, James couldn't quite put his finger on it but for all their differences there was a suggest of familial ties too.

“Who is she?” James queried.

“Kendall McKenna,” M retorted calmly. “Younger half-sister to your Paris.”

'My Paris,' James thought dully, 'only fleetingly.'

“And what has she to do with all this?” James asked.

“She's a hostage of Trevino's,” Felix answered, “why we don't know-”

“We can worry about the why later,” M interrupted frostily. “At this very moment this girl is in Mexico City and American intelligence knows which hideout she's going to.”

“Emmanuel isn't with her unfortunately so we can't get him,” Felix explained, “but if we can get Miss McKenna out cleanly then maybe we can finally get him.”

James looked from Felix to M with an unhidden suspicion. “Why would the CIA let England help with this? Surely they want to get this girl alone so they can find this Trevino man and have all the credit for themselves.”

Felix gave an uncomfortable smile at this. “Call this an unofficial request for aid,” he retorted awkwardly. “He caused mayhem in two of your cities, you deserve to be in on it.”

“And you knew the girl's sister,” M voiced the obvious in a firm tone that made it clear she would hear no objection. “We don't know what her role is yet or how willing she will be to talk.”

“I'm sure the CIA has ways to make people talk,” James answered coldly. He did not like where this was heading and despite himself he was rattled by the image of Paris, he wanted no reminder of her or his role in her demise.

“Honey is better than vinegar 007 and if there's one thing you're actually good at it's charm,” M answered. Her expression of mild disgust made it clear how much it cost her to admit her admiration for James' charm aloud.

“So what, go to Mexico, get the girl and charm a confession out of her about Trevino?” James queried bitingly. “And what if she has nothing to confess?”

“According to her file Kendall McKenna has a masters in Geography and History, her topics of interest were the Americas, particularly South America and Mexico and she has served as a tour guide in France, a surveyor in Spain and she is a qualified cartographer. Additionally she is known to be fluent in French and Spanish, given her half-Mexican heritage that's no surprise,” M replied bluntly. “She has something to confess 007.”

“Emmanuel is shipping his products somehow,” Felix murmured, “he has routes we can't find.”

“You said she was his hostage not his ally,” James countered, “that you don't know why he's taken her.”

“She went to Mexico for a break after her sister's alleged suicide two years ago,” M answered with an icy stare. “It's believed Trevino became aware of her in his territory, learned of her skills and then took her hostage. As I said, worry about the why later.”

“Two years,” James replied bluntly. He looked to Felix this time with an icy and curious stare.

“No one knew he had her until now,” Felix explained, “one day she was in Mexico seeing the sights and the next she wasn't. Her boyfriend filed a missing persons case but Mexico has dozens of them a day, tourists go missing. It was only when she was spotted being moved by his men and later identified that we realised.”

“Two years is a long time to be a prisoner,” James commented calmly.

Felix met his gaze with equal calm and nodded. “I know,” he retorted quietly.

“When do we leave?” James asked as he looked back to M for direction.

“Today, you and Agent Leiter here will be sharing the eight p.m flight out from London, direct to Mexico. Make sure you go to Q branch first.”

“Right.” James nodded and turned back to Felix again. He felt a sliver of relief to banish the photograph of Paris from sight.

“I've things to do,” Felix remarked with a purposeful vagueness. “I'll meet you on the plane.”

“See you there,” James answered with another small smile. He headed out of the office, bypassing the moon eyed Moneypenny with only the briefest nod. The image of Paris was no longer before him but her face was now as clear as a bell in his mind. Worse was that it was more than an image, it was a scent of the lavender perfume she favoured, the harsh tone of her voice when she had greeted him at her husband's party, the sting of her slap on his cheek, the feel of her soft skin as he ran his fingers down her bare back... 'Stop James,' he thought bluntly.

It was sad, Paris had never meant much to him. She had been a brief two month fling in Europe and then business, as always, had called him away. He had left her in Europe with the parting words 'I'll be right back' it had been cruel but not purposeful, he had meant it. How could he have known work would call? He hadn't thought of her when he had left her, not even an inkling and when they had met again she was married to a man of interest to MI6 and James had felt only a physical stirring for her, nothing emotional. Then she had been murdered, fallen foul of her husband for knowing James and lying about it, even now James wasn't certain if it had been because he was a secret agent and Elliot had suspected Paris had knowledge of that fact or if jealousy and rage at her infidelity had led to Elliot Carver having her killed. James knew her death wasn't entirely his fault but she was yet another to add to the list of women who had died for knowing him and he was starting to feel the guilt of all those deaths.

The agent told himself as he entered the lift and hit the basement button for Q Branch that it was merely the surprise of seeing her face again and the idea that she had family out there, someone else who had known her. James realised coldly that he knew very little about the majority of women he bedded save what he had to know. If it was relevant to a case he knew it, otherwise he didn't even bother to vet them, the idea of bedding a potential enemy did cause a certain thrill after all and he liked mystery. He wondered dully if during his two month stint with Paris she had mentioned her half-sister. He supposed she probably had and he, uncaring to her family background, had promptly forgotten the information to make space for something important.

The lift binged open and he exited to a chilled corridor lit up with square panels of light in the ceiling and formed of plain, off-white walls and polished tiles that matched the dull off-white shade. Down here the scientists worked, hidden from the upper world of admin, safe from the public eye to carry out experiments in safety bunkers of steel and concrete where they could only pose a danger to themselves. Down here was the backbone of MI6 where the real work was carried out, where intel was gathered and tools vital to the job were created. It was vital to the organisation and James appreciated their work but equally it was a place he preferred to avoid as nothing was ever quite as it seemed and it made the agent feel a rare state of unsafe and unsure. Down here James was most definitely not in control, Q and his scientists were and James didn't exactly enjoy relinquishing control to the highly intelligent but slightly eccentric firearms expert.

Q was a title rather than a name, short for Quartermaster, the actual Q was one Major Boothroyd, a tall, fair skinned man with white, receding hair, bushy grey eyebrows and clear grey eyes. As James entered Q's domain the gadgets expert was quick to regard the agent with the same irritation one did a disobedient child. He was wearing a coal grey suit with a white shirt and red tie, his white hair was flat and smooth in a neat comb-over and at James' arrival his brow gained several new wrinkles.

“Bond,” he greeted bluntly.

“Q,” James retorted with a wide, innocent smile. His smile had as much effect on Q as it did on M. Sometimes it was difficult to tell who disapproved of Bond the most, the MI6 head or the weapons expert.

“I don't have much for you,” Q murmured crossly, “not a lot of notice. This way.” He waved James on passed numerous scientists and gadgets, each probably more fascinating than the last though Bond barely took them in. Ordinarily he enjoyed tinkering with them if only to vex Q just a little or to give into the schoolboy curiosity for toys that dwelled within him but with the late Paris on his mind all he wanted to do was get his stuff and go.

“Rolex,” Q instructed as he opened a box containing an expensive looking wristwatch. “Press the top button on the right and it can record up to two hours of audio, press the button beneath it and you have a compass. Button on the left is a laser, it can cut through steel but has limited firepower. Be careful to mix them up.” He snapped the box shut before handing it over.

James accepted the watch gratuitously as they moved on to a phone. An Ericsson mobile, it unlocked for his fingerprint alone, it had a GPS system, an internal tracking device, it could take high quality pictures and send them back for identification at rapid speed and it had a detachable lockpick, much like the phone he'd used in Vietnam.

Q's final gift was a Walther PPK. James ran a finger over the gun and felt an odd fondness. For a while he had used a Walther P99, courtesy of Chinese intelligence but whilst it had served its purpose it just wasn't the same as the familiar PPK. He plucked up the black pistol and gave it a quick inspection. “Any additions for this?” he queried.

“Nope,” Q answered calmly, “just do your usual, point, shoot and hope for the best.”

James rewarded Q with another smile. “Thanks.”

___

Mexico City

There was a loud screech as rubber burned along the busy streets of Paseo de la Reforma. A blur of deep blue followed as a 1969 Ford Mustang roared around the roundabout of the Angel of Independence. The statue shone gold in the afternoon sun, a beacon in a busy city it took a lot to detract from its beauty but the mustang and the police car sirens singing after it provided a worthy opponent for attention.

James glanced up in the rear view mirror before shaking his head. Just three cop cars, it was child's play. He welcomed the rush as he urged the Mustang down the crowded roads of Mexico City's grand avenue, the Paseo de la Reforma.

James swung the Mustang out without warning sending pedestrians scattering with screams of alarm. Two mopeds were forced to come to a sudden halt, one falling hard against the pavement sending its rider rolling across the path's tiles with several curses. James barely noticed as he hit the accelerator.

“So much for subtly James,” his passenger, Felix, groaned.

A blue Audi A5 came at them from the opposite direction. Its male driver blasted at his horn angrily whilst spitting unheard curses. As he hit his brakes James finally swerved the Mustang back to the correct lane. With another screech of tyres and barely an inch to spare the Mustang made it back to the right lane and speeded off again.

The Mustang hurried along barely avoiding a cyclist and another handful of pedestrians before the Cuauhtémoc monument loomed into view as James heard sirens again. He looked up in the mirror and frowned, one cop car was still coming.

They had arrived in Mexico just under an hour ago. Felix had procured the car, a little old fashioned for James' tastes the English spy had still insisted upon being the driver much to the CIA agent's chagrin. For the first thirty minutes things had been fine and then the cops had appeared. James had contemplated stopping assuming it was simple native paranoia until Felix had spied the already raised guns of the police. Grumbling about Trevino having corrupt cops on his payroll he had urged James to ditch them as fast as possible.

James was still expecting an easy ditch and run, it was just one police car, a battered 2010 Dodge Charger, not exactly a racing car. He looked ahead gauging the road and its many potential routes. He wondered which one he could ditch the cop in fastest.

He punched the gear stick up again and realised as a thrill of excitement flooded through him that he had been missing this adrenaline rush.

The rush shifted from one of joy to a prickle of irritation when he found himself charging towards a blockade. Didn't the Mexican police have someone better to be occupying their time with? Could this really be linked to Trevino?

The Mustang screeched again as James swung the steering wheel round causing the car to do a 180 putting himself directly face to face with his cop pursuer. The Dodge Charger had just one occupant, a young female driver with a heavy set scowl.

The Dodge came straight towards the Mustang. James noticed the addition to the front of it a little too late, thick iron bars with small hooks at the bottom, not exactly standard for police cars. He hit the reverse in time to lessen the blow of the impact but he could not prevent it. There was a terrible clanging sound as the metal hooks rammed hard into the Mustang's bonnet, ensnaring it.

BANG! BANG!

The police woman was hanging out her side window with a Glock 17 in hand. She was shooting!

BANG! BANG!

James cursed as he heard the bang and hiss that followed. The back right tyre had been shot out.

BANG! The front right tyre was deflated.

James glanced up in his mirror once more, the other police were out now, armed and ready to attack if necessary. “Plan Felix?” he queried calmly. “I'm guessing returning fire is out of the question.”

“We have our own version of Q branch you know,” Felix retorted brightly as he tugged out a set out of keyrings from his left trouser pocket. One was a black 8 snooker ball. “Hands up in surrender, get out slow and then on my count get ready to move.”

James muttered several curses before cutting the engine and holding his hands up in surrender. Trusting in his friend he waited for the officers to get the just of surrender and hoped they weren't going to shoot anyway.

The fierce eyed police woman barked at them in Spanish. Understanding it to mean 'come out slow with your hands up' James and Felix obeyed.

They were at opposing sides of the car with their backs vulnerable to the other officers, James didn't like it one bit and he wondered what Felix had planned.

“On three James,” Felix murmured in a low voice. “One, two, three.”

There was a small click and then a burst of smoke. James had to admire it, a smoke bomb, crude but effective. The agents moved quick, James veering to the left and Felix to the right just before the startled gunfire erupted.

 

It took two hours of sweating on the streets of Mexico City before the agents were reunited. They reconciled on the outskirts of the city after a brief, coded phone call between them to arrange it. Felix arrived last with his straw hair out in all directions thanks to the humidity and sweat trickling down his fair skin as he greeted James with a slight pant.

James sat outside a small cafe on a white painted stool looking pristine. James wore all weather well- humidity, cold, rain, wind- none of it ever seemed to affect James' appearance much. It had Felix wondering if James suffered from vanity a little more than he would perhaps admit. Only a man conscious of appearance could still look unruffled even after running through Mexico City in the summer heat evading the local police.

“I've got another car,” Felix announced, “and I'm driving this time.”

James gave his companion a slight frown. “Very well,” he murmured as he stood, “but let's try to avoid any more trouble.”

Felix frowned back at the agent. “You're the one who drew the police on us.”

“I wasn't even speeding,” James murmured in protest.

The pair headed to the edge of the city where a dusty, beaten Dodge sat. It wasn't a police car mercifully but was instead a plain, rundown, black beast of a car.

“Felix-” James began a protest.

Felix waved him off with his left hand. “Inconspicuous James,” he retorted, “learn it.”

James lasted twenty minutes in the car before the sticky, leather seat and the stuffiness began to get to him. “Can you at least turn the air con on?” he quipped pointedly. The afternoon heat was merciless. In the Mustang he had been able to forget it but now he was beginning to feel suffocated by it.

“Doesn't work,” Felix answered merrily. He looked the better of the two now, linen shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows, ovular black shades on to block out the sun and an aura of tranquillity as he hummed along to the static plagued Spanish song coming out through the radio. James just appeared uncomfortable, unhappy at not being in control of the vehicle, on edge as he was in an unfamiliar territory and uneasy at the thought of having come up on the police radar already.

The drive continued for another scorching four hours, taking them out of the city and into the unknown of Mexico, at least unknown for James. He frowned out at the scenery as the sweat poured down his skin.

The English agent considered asking more about Trevino but he knew whatever Felix had to tell him he would tell him in his own damn time. Felix and the CIA in general could be a pain like that, selective with information, sharing only when they deemed it necessary. James supposed MI6 wasn't much different and he considered it a pity that they all couldn't get on just a little better. If people shared more they might get surprised less.

To James' relief the car finally pulled off the roads to sit comfortably behind a low cluster of trees. “Now we walk,” Felix announced.

They stepped out to an air dead and stifling hot and started walking up the edge of a path of golden stones to reach a property nestled on a low hill, hidden behind tall, dark green trees and a low mist. Framed by mountains and dormant volcanos the scene was picturesque but James was too hot, tired and fed up to even notice.

There was a rundown, wooden barn sitting at the bottom of the hill within the grounds of the property, it was just visible above low stone walls with spiked iron fencing on top of them.

The house on the hill was two storeys tall, large and made of brick, guarded by the iron fence and two black, nondescript jeeps near the entrance, which consisted of two iron gates and an intercom system.

James and Felix paused in the shade of the trees to study the entrance. There were two men on patrol, both dressed in plain clothes and armed with a single gun holstered at their belts. They paced about with disinterest, one pausing to swat at what James assumed was a fly.

“She'll be in the barn,” Felix murmured in a low voice.

James looked at his companion inquisitively. “How can you be so sure?”

Felix grinned back. “Intel.”

“And how many other people does intel say are on the property?”

Felix shrugged at this. “No one's at home yet, this is just a pass by house, Trevino doesn't stay here, it's for his men to hide out in when they're on business in the city.”

“Doesn't answer the question Felix,” James grumbled.

“Well it would spoil the fun if we knew, wouldn't it James?” Felix answered teasingly.

 


	2. Chapter 2- Foul Smelling Exit

James had been prepared for two things- hostiles and a hostage but whilst there were certainly hostiles he wasn't so sure about the hostage. He had forced the barn doors open amidst a chorus of gunfire, leaving Felix to cover him whilst he aimed his pistol inwards preparing for enemies. The first thing he noticed was one man on the ground and the second thing was the woman.

Turquoise eyes, it was the first thing James observed about the woman, warm and bright like a tropical ocean, they should have been inviting but instead they were abhorrent, both terrified and repulsive. Her gaze was wide, her pupils almost engulfing the turquoise irises into darkness as she took him and his gun in. Blood streaked down her wary face,   
bruises showed at her legs and she had her left wrist raised whilst her right hand cradled it. 

James arched a dark eyebrow as he realised her predicament. One metal cuff hung limp against the wall from a long, iron chain but the other was still around her left wrist. A low click told him the lock on it was now free but she remained carefully still, uncertain of him and his motives.

“James hurry up!” Felix called inwards before a curse and gunfire followed.

“Miss McKenna,” James addressed her, hoping that familiarity might put her at ease. “We're here to help you,” James explained to the woman hastily. There was blood trickling down her brow and swelling in its centre. Her resemblance to Paris was faint but James still noticed it, it was jarring.

James looked to the man unconscious on the ground and wondered how she had managed to knock him out. He glanced back at and spied a dark, shining stain on the heel of her right boot. The thought that she had kicked the man into unconsciousness prompted a small, coy smile from him. 

“Who are you?” she demanded as she tugged off the cuff at last. She spoke in English in an accent that was heavy with a Mexican-Spanish tone. Her voice was hoarse and James strained to hear her. He observed that despite her wounds and lack of an obvious weapon she was showing no fear and wondered if it was bravado or delirium? She was sweaty and bloodstained and he could only guess how long she had gone without basic necessities.

“James!” Felix let his irritation seep into his voice.

“There isn't much time,” James said hastily as he glanced over his shoulder, his dark blue gaze skimming over items of torture sitting on a wooden table in the shadows. “I'm with the British Secret Service, trust that I'm here to help and follow me.” He looked to the main door Felix's form was blocking, there was too much gunfire coming from outside.

The woman, Kendall McKenna, frowned at James and limped forward. “Help me,” she grumbled sardonically with a shake of her head, “to go out to the gunfire?” She stopped in the middle of the barn, collapsing to her knees.

James moved forward fearing a faint but when he saw that she was upright and focused on something he realised she had kneeled down deliberately. He frowned when he saw what she was at, fiddling with a rusted padlock on what appeared to be a large, square drain cover.

“What are you doing?” James demanded.

“We're not going back the way you came,” she answered firmly, “that's too obvious.”

James watched briefly as the woman fiddled with a makeshift lockpick. “Are you mad?” he demanded.

“It leads to the sewers,” she answered calmly like it was a positive thing, “they will only follow for so far before they get lost. Go get your friend, if you can make sure that the barn door is blocked in some way to delay their following then you might be helping me.”

James frowned before turning his attention to the barn, the torture instruments wouldn't offer much aid, no more than the pitchfork in the corner. There was a sufficient amount of hay and the building was made of wood so he supposed a fire wasn't entirely out of the question. Better still, there was a container of oil, presumably for machinery, just beside the pitchfork. He moved to Felix, pulled him into the barn and shut the door behind him.

The Texan looked at the English agent quizzically. “James what's going on?” he demanded. “We're trapped in here!”

“She's got a way out,” James retorted with a nod in the woman's direction. “Help me burn this place down.”

“Are you insane?” Felix snapped as he looked at James with wide eyes.

“Come out with your hands up!” a male's voice called from outside. “We've got you surrounded!”

James hastened to the pitchfork and oil. He sized up the pitchfork and immediately began pushing straw and hay into a pile at the door.

Felix watched him with an incredulous expression before turning to the woman as he heard a loud click.

The woman tugged the padlock off the drain cover and then cursed as she strained to lift it.

Felix sighed and hurried over to help. “Are we really going down there?” he demanded with an exasperated look.

Kendall glanced to him with hostility before her gaze flickered over to James. “Well your friend's just set the door on fire so yes,” she answered calmly.

Felix followed her stare to the red and amber flames that were beginning to multiply at an alarming rate. A curse exhaled from him before he hurried to raise the stiff drain cover. With a loud groan and much grunting on Felix's part it finally came free and rose up to reveal a dark, square hole that led down to the unknown.

“Ladies first surely,” Felix murmured dryly.

Kendall did not retort. She moved to the edge in a seated position and slipped down feet first. Felix went next, hoping that he had given her time to move lest she break his fall and he her spine. James was last, slipping in whilst holding onto the drain cover so that he pulled it down with him.

James found it difficult to hide his unease as darkness, dampness and the overwhelming odour of faeces greeted him. “What the hell was this used for?” he snapped as he stood upright and brushed down his light linen jacket futilely.

“A means of drainage for the barn, they would hose the animal waste down it,” the woman answered coolly, “and the blood of their victims.” Her voice was disembodied in the darkness and the hoarseness of it didn't help ease the atmosphere. 

James heard her take a few soft cautious steps back. He tugged out his phone hastily and triggered the light on it. The beam was narrow but bright, enough to illuminate Kendall's bruised and bloody face and have her shrinking back in annoyance. “We really need to get moving,” James grumbled.

Kendall held out her right hand for his phone. “I need a light,” she said in a voice still hot with hostility.

“So you can run off and leave us in darkness?” James quipped sardonically.

“Tempting but no, so I can figure a route away from danger,” she retorted calmly. 

“I don't think so,” James said with a shake of his head. “I'll point, you lead.”

Kendall sighed crossly before turning away from him. “Fine,” she grumbled. 

Her pace was agonisingly slow as she led and she favoured her left foot suggesting an injury in the right. As she walked James illuminated her silhouette from behind and he and   
Felix both tried to take her in. She was five feet six, slender but mercifully not starved looking, evidently in the two years she had at least been fed. Her clothes were dirty and stained, a grey tank top and tattered jeans with scuffed black boots. Darker stains on the top suggested blood was still seeping from unseen wounds. Her hair shimmered a dark bronze at the ends whilst the roots were black with deep coffee brown streaks. James recalled the red hair in the picture and supposed this was two years of growing it out. It was unkempt, uneven ends with tattered clumps throughout it. 

She led them down one tunnel after another. Minutes turned into an hour and the water level began to vary. At times they seemed to slope down further into the bowels of the earth whilst in other passageways they moved up steep inclines. Every now and then she paused to glance at worn, yellowing metal signs on the walls that indicated letters and numbers. Some sections they journeyed through had pipes with mini waterfalls of sewage, others had narrow cement walkways and more than a few had rats.

James didn't think he had ever been so uncomfortable. For the suave agent trekking in sewage was far from an easy task. He could feel every single drop of water that came from above, imaging the tiny splodge of questionable brown imprinted on his jacket by it. His nostrils began to burn with the smell and he considered that risking the gunfire might have been preferable. He began to wonder bitterly how in the hell he had been talked into this so easily. He did not know the woman, hell there was a suspicion that she was perhaps aiding the criminal but she had been so damn confident that this was the way to salvation and it had seemed to make sense.

Kendall paused when they finally came across a hint of guidance in a wide, high tunnel. There was an old map on a wall behind glass. James obligingly shone his light on it but he could make little sense of it. There were codes and numbers, it was like a grid with sewage points marked out. Kendall perused over it briefly before turning and guiding them to the left.

James exchanged a wary look with Felix. The blonde looked frazzled, his shirt was stained brown with sewage, his hair was frizzy and damp, and he seemed just as pleased at the smell of decay and waste as James. 

“We haven't even confirmed her identity,” James murmured in a low voice. “I mean I'm almost certain it's her but when I mentioned her name she didn't validate it.”

“James right now she could be a communist spy for all I care,” Felix grumbled back, “as long as she gets us outta this shit hole I'm happy.”

“Not a communist,” the woman called back with a hint of tired cheer in her voice, “but what about you two? An Englishman and an American and secret service, all the way out in the middle of nowhere, Mexico, why?”

“Why don't you get us out of here first?” James suggested as he gave her a tight smile in answer.

She shrugged. “Because I don't know that you won't lock me up if I do, maybe put me in the CIA's idea of a prison?”

“We helped you, you know,” Felix retorted defensively.

“No, you came a little late for that,” she countered. “You got yourselves stuck in a barn with no exit, outnumbered and outgunned,” she reminded them. “I freed myself and I got the drain unlocked. If you hadn't showed up I'd still be trekking shit and on my way too freedom.”

“She's got a point,” James murmured.

Felix folded his arms and frowned back at her. “No, she doesn't, if we hadn't showed up missy here would still be in the barn because she couldn't get the damn drain cover open, remember?”

The woman's eyes flashed with annoyance but she swallowed down whatever retort she was thinking and turned away from them. “I think I prefer communist to missy,” she grumbled heatedly. She continued to lead them down tunnels of varying size and length, her pace noticeably slowing as time trickled by them. Her footsteps became louder too as she splashed unintentionally in the rising water that flowed about them as she started to stumble.

James was beginning to fear the woman's body giving out on her just as daylight finally greeted them.

James didn't think he could ever feel so relieved to see light. It didn't matter that there wasn't much of it, light was light. He moved to the end of the tunnel eagerly, desperate for the fresh air that would come with the deep golden burn of a sinking sun that greeted them. Despite his urge to get the hell out he was cautious, gun ready, ears perked and eyes ever watchful. Sensing only the roar of the ocean he stepped out.

James exited the ceramic and metal of the old sewage tunnel they had been wandering through for what had seemed like an eternity, walking out and down to the off spill of a sewage stream. The odour of the salty sea that welcomed them sadly wasn't near enough to overcome the odour of sewage. The beach they had arrived on was a thin strip of sand, dark gold beneath the fading sunlight with only a few people on it, none of them near enough to notice the sorry trio emerging from the sewer tunnel.  
James sucked in a deep breath of the fresh air before turning back to the woman. “Are you Kendall McKenna?” he queried bluntly.

She blinked back at him calmly and shrugged. “If I say no?”

“I'd suspect you were lying and advise we have ways to confirm otherwise,” James retorted icily. He knew it was her, the resemblance to Paris was scant but it was there, though he still, frustratingly, couldn't quite figure out what 'it' was. Paris had been fair, elegant and beautiful, an Old Hollywood style of beauty, designer from head to toe in terms of hair, make-up and clothes. This woman looked half-mad and homeless. James supposed dryly that it was hardly her fault and he was being superficial and unfair comparing her in her current state to her ex-model sister given he was probably seeing her at her worst but he couldn't help it.

“I'm outgunned and injured,” she pointed out. “It can't be very sporting when I'm at so many disadvantages.”

James raised his phone and took a quick, discreet photograph of the woman and sent it back to base for a swift identification. He then brought up the GPS to confirm their location. They were in the city of Veracruz, which shared its name with its coastal state, Veracruz. To the east sat the Gulf of Mexico, and approximately six hours of driving to the west led back to Mexico City.

Felix tugged out his phone and made a hasty call. “This is Leiter, yeah we need some transport. Quick as you can please, I'll turn on the locator.” He paced off along the sand heading up to the main road to check the signposts.

James gestured to Kendall to follow after the blonde.

Kendall scowled back at the dark haired male before turning and trudging after Felix. She muttered several curses as she stumbled twice in the sand before making it up to the concrete footpath Felix had mounted onto. The American agent was now sitting on a wooden bench, spoiling it with dribbles of sewage as the shade of two palm trees offered some sympathetic cover to his damp, bedraggled state. 

Kendall glanced to James who gestured to the bench. She shook her head. “He's your friend, you sit with him,” she remarked brightly before flicking a glob of sewage in James' direction.

James resisted the urge to snap at the woman and remained where he was, keeping a serious blue stare on the woman in case she tried to run. He doubted she would get far, she was tired from her trek and burdened with her injuries but he would prefer she didn't try, he was tired too and in no mood to attempt chasing her. She might not get far but if the wrong person saw it would be trouble for him anyway.

“You know I am drenched in cold sewage on top of suffering from some rather unpleasant injuries,” she addressed James and Felix in a sardonic voice edged with impatience, “is there any chance you boys could get to the bloody point and tell me what you want? And maybe be kind enough to give me a heads up as to whether or not I'm about to go back to torture and dark cells again?”

Felix and James exchanged another look. The blonde offered a half-shrug along with a small smile and a shake of his head.

“Felix this is your game,” James reminded him in a low voice, “I'm just along for the ride.”

Felix sighed. “Can you confirm that you're Kendall McKenna?” he quipped lightly as he gave her a hopeful look.

“Does it look I have ID on me to prove whatever answer I give?” she retorted crossly.

James' phone beeped and he flipped it open. “It's alright,” he said smoothly, “intelligence has confirmed it. Now, you're not going to be this difficult with every question are you Miss McKenna?” He gave her a taunting grin at this.

“No fun in making it easy,” she replied calmly. Her gaze suggested she was irked. “So what am I to call you pair?”

“Bond. James Bond,” James introduced, his small grin still present.

“Felix Leiter, CIA,” the blonde revealed.

Kendall glanced behind her and seated herself on the edge of the low wall that separated the path from the beach front. The adrenaline rush of escape was beginning to wear off and her right leg's numbness was starting to turn into a burning ache. 

James remained standing though he gave the space beside the bench a pointed look. 

“Now that the pleasantries are out of the way,” she addressed them brightly, “are you going to tell me why the CIA and the British Secret Service have come all the way to Mexico for little old me?”

“When we're in a more secure location,” Felix answered.

“And cleaner,” James added.

“Secure location?” Kendall repeated warily.

Felix looked to her with a reassuring grey gaze. “I mean a hotel,” he explained.

James tensed as a trio of tall, long legged, native beauties came strolling past them giggling as they glanced from their phones to one another. One wrinkled her nose suddenly and her chocolate brown eyes looked to James standing beside the bench. Her eyes widened as she glanced from him to Felix and her friends followed suit, their gazes filling with horror as they took in the agents' filthy state and stench.

James felt disarmed by their stares of disgust, it was rare that any woman looked to him with revulsion and it certainly didn't happen before he had even spoken to them. He flashed a teasing smile at them choosing to embrace them ridicule knowing that if he acted embarrassed they would probably laugh and tease.

When the women passed Kendall she met their gazes unflinchingly and said merrily, “hemos tenido un día de mierda.”

Felix let out a low snicker at this before he could help himself.

James, whose Spanish was passable but a little rusty, glanced at the young woman quizzically. “What did you say?” he queried.

“I just told them we were having a shitty day,” Kendall explained happily.  
James fought the twitch at the corner of his mouth that hinted at a smile. “Well you're not wrong,” he admitted.

They shared another half hour of awkward silence broken up by the dripping of brown water falling from their persons and the disapproving murmurs, gasps and snickers from other passersby. James kept a careful gaze on Kendall throughout it, she was deteriorating though she was trying hard not to show it. He imagined it was a multitude of things- injury, a long journey through the sewers and exposure to fresh air after suffering the stale, musty air of the barn for who knew how long. He did admire her willpower to at least appear alert, keeping her head upright and focused on the streets though she couldn't quite banish the redness at the edge of her eyes or the hunch in her back.

\---

The low welcome hum of a fast car created an excited thrill in James shaking off the stupor he had settled into for the past thirty minutes. It was a sleek, silver BMW with the roof down showing off its cream ,leather seats and a familiar face in the driver's seat. Behind it a black Ford Mustang followed closely. The two came to a screeching halt at the edge of the kerb.

“Jimbo!” a brash American voice greeted cheerfully as the driver of the BMW stepped out of the car. He crossed round the front of the bonnet and gave the trio a wide smile. He was six feet two and dressed like a tourist with a loose fitting, short sleeved, cotton shirt that was mainly jade in colour with a vague yellow and red print Aztec pattern on it, beige shorts to his knees, brown loafers, and a straw hat. 

James suppressed a grimace as he greeted the man politely, “Wade.” 

Felix stood up from the bench and stepped up to the older man. “Agent Wade,” he addressed him happily with a look of relief.

“Phew!” the man exclaimed as he waved his right hand at his nose directly. “You boys stink! What the hell have you been doing, swimming through shit?” he barked at them humorously.

Felix and James exchanged a look.

The man's narrow blue eyes flickered from one to the other. “Jesus boys, really?” He looked past James to the woman still sitting on the wall. “You didn't drag this poor woman with you, did you?” he queried dubiously.

“It was her idea,” Felix snapped as he glanced over his shoulder at Kendall.

“It got us out,” Kendall answered cheerfully as she stood up, “and my name is Kendall McKenna as intelligence has confirmed.” She gave the tourist dressed agent a bright, sardonic smile.

The agent smiled back before turning to Felix once more. “Has she been checked out?” he queried cryptically.

“She knows we're agents,” Felix answered, purposely evading the question.

“Right.” The man turned back to face Kendall. “Well I'm Jack Wade, CIA.”

“Oh.” Kendall turned a curious stare on Felix. “Three agents in one day, you spoil me.”

“Do you want to walk?” Felix queried bitingly.

James chortled. “Now that you mention it can we get a move on?” he quipped.

Jack held up the keys to the BMW. “Seems a damn shame seeing a good car like that get ruined with whatever shit you three are caked in.”

“I guess Felix should have given you a heads up to bring something with darker seats,” James retorted sarcastically as held out a hand for the keys.

Felix snatched them off Jack nimbly before James could receive them. “I'm driving,” he insisted, “CIA car, CIA driver.”

Jack chuckled at that. “I'll be in the Mustang, not missing the smell,” he said as he jerked a thumb back at the black car. The driver had yet to emerge. From what they could see he was completely unremarkable in appearance, plainly dressed with a serious expression, short cut dark hair and a swarthy complexion. 

“Good luck with finding a hotel to take you, might want to be generous with the tipping,” Jack mocked them. He let out another chuckle before heading over to the passenger side of the Mustang.

“Shotgun,” Kendall called out before rushing over to the front passenger door of the BMW.

“Now wait a minute,” James protested with a scowl.

Kendall ignored him, tugging open the door and clambering in with a wince of pain as her leg hindered her again.

Felix shook his head before moving round to the driver's side and getting in. 

James suppressed a sigh before heading into the back of the car. His scowl deepened as he found the foot room a tad lacking and was ill-pleased by the squelching sound his clothes made on the cream leather. 

Felix started up the engine, put up the roof, ignoring Kendall's cry of dismay as he did, and hit on the air con.

Kendall extended a finger out towards the sound system as Felix pulled out onto the main road. “Let's liven things up,” she murmured as she hit the radio on. She skimmed through the stations until a lively Latino dance tune came on. “Perfect!” she cried out happily before she twisted the sound dial sharply to the right.

“Christ,” Felix grumbled as they were nearly deafened.

“Woo!” Kendall cheered as she started dancing in her seat. “Been a long time since I've heard something other than threats and noises of pain, makes a nice change,” she commented chirpily.

James watched her from behind, he was equal parts amused and irritated by her antics. He was also curious as to where she found the sudden burst of energy from and considered that maybe this was a mad embrace of freedom after being in captivity for so long in which case he supposed reluctantly that it was understandable. He was mildly concerned by how glibly she referred to torture and imprisonment and suspected she was just trying to distance herself from the whole affair. It made him wonder what exactly she had been through.

Felix winced as droplets of sewage sprayed across the car interior with her movements. He too wondered how the hell she had the energy for it. 

“So where's the nearest McDonalds?”

Felix glanced over at Kendall dumbfounded, unsure if he had heard right over the music. “What?” he yelled back.

“McDonalds? You know, golden arches?” Kendall shouted back as she mimed out a M shape with her hands and arms.

Felix reached for the volume and turned it down. He was tempted to mute the sound but Kendall's sudden fierce look made him rethink the decision. “You're kidding right?” he quipped in a deadpan voice. “It'd be a little unhygienic for them to let someone covered in shit into the place.”

“Pretty sure they have drive-thrus,” she retorted sarcastically.

“Surely you can wait until we reach the hotel,” James interrupted from the back seat, “and then we can get room service.” The mere mention of fast food made him slightly sick inside, it was just so classless and tasteless, if one had to eat, one should damn well enjoy what they were eating.

“Listen spooks,” Kendall addressed them heatedly, “I was locked in a barn with no food for quite a long time and I'm cranky when I don't have food. Add some torture to the mix and honestly, I think I've more than earned my McDonalds. If it helps I'm more co-operative when I've food, the boys in the barn might have had an easier time getting information if they'd considered getting me a burger.”

“What kind of information?” James pried.

Kendall turned round in her seat to face him down the aisle of the car. “You get me a burger and tell me a bit more about who you are and what you want and I'll answer that.”

Felix met James' cool stare in the mirror. “It sounds like a fair deal,” the American murmured.

“Only if it's en route to the hotel,” James gave in reluctantly.

\--

It took half an hour before a Burger King loomed into sight. James considered it a slight victory that it wasn't a McDonald's though he couldn't suppress his revulsion for fast food joints in general.

Felix indicated into the place and found the drive-thru lane empty. “What do you want?” he queried moodily.

“Big King meal with a Pepsi,” Kendall ordered happily. “Oh and ice cream.”

“No,” Felix answered bluntly. He cursed when he was answered with a cold splatter of something on his left cheek.

“It's been a long, hot day, I've been chained up, beaten up, tortured, and I've had to spend two hours limping through sewage” Kendall retorted frostily, “that earns me ice cream.”

“That earns you a small cone,” Felix gave in grudgingly, “but try not-” He paused and shook his head.

“Not to get it on the seats?” Kendall quipped innocently.

“Right.” Felix looked in the mirror again. “James?”

“I'll wait,” the British agent answered firmly.


End file.
